


Learning to Heal

by Cithara



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Auror Harry Potter, Based on a Tumblr Post, Fluff, Healer Draco Malfoy, Humor, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Praecipio Patronum, Recovering from the past, Romance, Softsirusblack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-11-27 20:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20954507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cithara/pseuds/Cithara
Summary: After quite literally running into one another at the Ministry, Draco offers to take Harry out to dinner as an apology. After an awkward start, things progress and the two men negotiate what some might call a relationship.Based upon a Tumblr RP thread.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written Drarry in YEARS but I was inspired to after watching this beautiful Tumblr RP thread - https://praecipiopatronum.tumblr.com/search/learning%20to%20heal It's written by the wonderful Praecipio Patronum and stars them as Harry and their RP partner, softsiriusblack, as Draco. I loved it so much that I just had to try and write it as a fic and so here we are. This will be in 3 parts and the next 2 parts will be along shortly.
> 
> Thank you so much to Shino (Praecipio Patronum) and Becka (softsiriusblack) for giving me permission to write this. The dialogue is at least 80% Shino's inspired work, I've just tarted it up with some narrative.
> 
> Please leave a comment and let me know what you thought.

Part 1 

It was barely a couple of hours into the day and Harry was already thinking of it in capitals. His Bad Day, as it was titled in his mind, had seen him oversleep his alarm, cut himself shaving and burn his tongue on coffee that had turned out to be foul anyway. The last thing he wanted was to attend a meeting at the Ministry but he had little choice in the matter.

He was a year into his training as an auror and the Ministry's PR machine had been trying to strong-arm him into allowing himself to be utilised for its own ends. He had so far resisted but his course supervisor, who was, he was certain, related to Umbridge, had insisted that he least sit down and hear them out.

So, there he was, already in a bad mood and with a sore chin where he had sliced a good layer of skin off with his razor, on his way to a meeting he had no wish to attend. He had already lost his way several times trying to find the bloody room the meeting was supposed to take place in and the overly-cheerful memo in his hand was no help at all.

He had asked several people for directions, but to no avail. It was the sodding PR office for Merlin's sake, surely its presence should be better advertised. He was so engrossed in trying to find his way that he almost didn't register the figure that slammed bodily into his left shoulder. The impact sent him into such a spin that his ankle gave way, and, before he knew it, he was tumbling down a flight of stairs that he hadn't even noticed was there.

He was informed later that he had banged his head on an ill-placed metal bin. He knew little of this while he spent a pleasant few moments unconscious and when he opened his eyes it was to be met with a most improbable circumstance.

"Oh Merlin, Potter! You certainly haven't lost your flare for the dramatic, have you?"

His head, it appeared, was pillowed in a lap that belonged to none other than Draco Malfoy. He wasn't entirely sure that he wasn't still unconscious, for surely such an occurrence couldn't happen in real life.

"What…"

"Don't try to talk," Malfoy instructed imperiously. "You've had a nasty fall."

"Fall?" Harry repeated as his head started to throb.

"I may have…accidentally…knocked you down the stairs."

From the angle looking upwards it was hard to tell exactly what Malfoy's expression was but Harry had a vague sense that the man looked guilty. He tried to push himself up but was held in place by a surprisingly strong hand.

"Someone's gone to fetch a Healer."

"I don't need a Healer," Harry protested, aware that he was drawing more of a crowd than usual.

"Yes you do," Malfoy countered, retrieving a handkerchief from his breast pocket with a flourish. "You've taken a blow to the head and it's bleeding."

He dabbed daintily at Harry's forehead, the action so bizarre that Harry was now convinced he was still unconscious.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Malfoy asked, waving two fingers in his face.

"Oh stop it," Harry groused. "I'm fine."

"Is this the patient?" Harry heard from somewhere above his head.

"No," Malfoy answered with his customary drawl. "Potter's simply so important that he's at liberty to use mere mortals as bedding whenever the need should strike him."

"There's no need for that tone," the Healer chastised.

Harry was helped into a sitting position and found himself regretting the sudden loss of his proximity to Malfoy. He was poked and prodded and had various spells cast on him as he sat quietly. The cut on his head was healed, although the Healer informed him that he would likely have a scar. Malfoy scoffed at that and Harry glared at him.

Satisfied her work was done, the Healer left with a sharp handshake and the crowd began to disperse. Harry shuffled off the step he was sitting on and brushed himself off as he stood.

"Oh you do like a show, don't you?" Malfoy asked with a smirk.

"Excuse me but I believe you're the reason I went arse over tit in the first place."

Malfoy coloured slightly, his pale cheeks flushing. "Yes…well…I apologise for being responsible for your injuries."

"Don't worry about it, I should have been looking where I was going," Harry said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"No," Malfoy insisted, "it was my fault. Let me make amends. Let me…let me buy you dinner."

"Dinner?" Harry echoed incredulously.

"Yes, Potter. Dinner."

"You want to buy me dinner?"

"Merlin's teeth, Potter! I didn't realise the concept would be such a difficult one to grasp! If you don't want to go then just say so but – "

"Fine, fine! Bloody hell, I'll go with you. There's no need to have a hissy fit."

Malfoy sniffed and straightened the cuffs on his sleeves. "Very well then. Will tonight suit?"

Harry nodded dumbly and Malfoy continued, "Tonight at eight then. The French restaurant in Diagon. I'll see you there."

With that, the man turned on his heel and disappeared away down the hall with a flare of his robes that would have made Snape proud.

* * *

Harry would have been lying if he'd said that he didn't take extra care in getting ready for his dinner with Malfoy. The situation was so alien and he didn't know what to expect, but he knew he wanted to make a good impression. Malfoy always looked impeccable and he himself…usually didn't.

He decided to forgo wizarding robes; he had never been all that comfortable with them and he had a suspicion that he was too short to pull them off with any elegance. Smart jeans and a shirt would suffice, along with the leather jacket that Ron and Hermione had bought him for Christmas.

He took particular care with his hair. Hermione had told him that, now he was a fully-fledged adult, he should take a little more pride in his appearance and had taught him a couple of charms to tame and style his errant mane.

When he was finally satisfied with his appearance, he apparated to Diagon Alley and made his way to the restaurant. He was shown to the table and found that Malfoy was already waiting.

Malfoy inclined his head in greeting and Harry shuffled out of his jacket, saying, "You know, this really wasn't necessary."

Malfoy stiffened a little and said, "I know, but it struck me as the polite thing to do. I know that manners aren't your strongest suit."

His arm halfway out his jacket, Harry felt his hackles rise. "Yeah. This was a bad idea. I should go."

"No!"

"Have a good evening, Malfoy," Harry said, shifting back into his jacket and heading off.

"Potter, wait," Malfoy said, rising from the table. A few heads turned in their direction and Harry stopped only to save himself further embarrassment.

Malfoy pursed his lips for a moment, casting withering glances at those who were still staring. "Please," he said eventually. "I didn't mean to upset you." He paused, his expression one of reluctant consideration, before he said, "This is a peace-offering more than it is an apology for what happened at the Ministry."

Harry huffed and said, "Fine. If you insist."

"I do."

Harry removed his jacket, successfully this time, and hung it on the back of his chair before taking his seat. He picked up a menu, thankful that it wasn't written in French, and examined it. As he read through the list of delicious-sounding offerings he became aware that Malfoy was staring at him across the table. He looked up and saw the man squinting at him. He raised his eyebrows and Malfoy said,

"Di you…try to do something with your hair?"

Harry paused, immediately on his guard and said, "Are you…trying to compliment me or should I be offended?"

Malfoy shrugged and said, "I'm acknowledging that you made an effort."

Confused, Harry replied, "I still don't know if that's a good thing or not."

Malfoy appeared to consider the question, a slight frown between his delicate brows, then said eventually, "It is."

Unsure of how he could respond, Harry returned his eyes to the menu, glancing up now and again to look at the man opposite. Malfoy seemed flustered and that in itself was enough to unsettle Harry.

"Gentlemen, can we offer you anything from the bar tonight?"

They both looked up at the waiter as though he were a life preserver at sea, and both sputtered at the same time, "Dear God, yes."

Wine and food were ordered and they both dabbled in attempts at small talk. Harry learnt that Malfoy was in training to become a Healer, which surprised him greatly, though he had tact enough to keep his thoughts to himself. In turn, he apprised Malfoy of his own training, and the man responded with interest.

Conversation came more easily than Harry had expected it would. Malfoy seemed a little nervous and it was strange to see him so. He was also looking oddly dashing in a plain black turtle-neck jumper and grey fitted trousers. His hair was longer than Harry had seen it before and, while it should have made him look like Lucius, it instead made him look much less so.

The starter was finished and the wine continued to flow, lubricating the wheels of conversation further. It inevitably turned to quidditch and to their time playing at school.

"Oh please," Harry said in response to Malfoy's assertion that Slytherin had always been the superior team. "Even with your fancy brooms you guys never had a chance against us!"

Snorting inelegantly on a mouthful of wine, Malfoy said, "Now, that's a bold assumption for the guy who switched to a firebolt in his fourth year!"

Harry grinned, in spite of himself, and Malfoy said, "Where did that even come from?"

Deciding that discretion was the better part of valour, Harry simply smiled and said, "From someone who thought I needed it."

The main course followed, which was exquisite, and Malfoy became more animated as the evening wore on. Harry had never noticed it before but the man spoke with his hands and it was mesmerising to watch. He couldn't help but smile as he watched the long-fingered, elegant hands dance as Malfoy spoke with passion.

They stuck with fairly neutral topics, and the minutiae of their school days seemed like safe waters in which to swim. They spoke of favourite classes and of missions to the kitchens to retrieve food for late-night study sessions.

By the time dessert was served, an indulgent chocolate soufflé that they shared, they were discussing the merits and drawbacks of their respective common rooms.

"No, really! They just peek in through the windows!" Malfoy said around a mouthful of chocolate. "They know no privacy whatsoever."

Trying not to be too distracted by the sight of Malfoy sucking on the end of his spoon, Harry grinned and said, "That's what you get for having your common room window pointing right at their living room! Bet the merfolk weren't too eager to have you staring at them either…like they were in an aquarium or something."

"A what?" Malfoy asked with a frown.

"Never mind."

They finished their soufflé and Harry was persuaded to indulge in a brandy, which he enjoyed more than he thought he would. He found himself regretting that the evening was coming to an end. Perhaps he could get Malfoy to knock him down the stairs more often.

When the bill was brought, Harry reached for his wallet but Malfoy shook his head and said, "No, my treat. I told you."

"Oh…well…thank you. This was actually quite nice."

"You sound surprised," Malfoy said with a strange little smile.

"I _am_ surprised," Harry countered, a note of teasing to his tone.

"Fair enough," Malfoy replied, and Harry suddenly realised that, odd as it seemed, the man was flirting with him.

He cleared his throat and said, "We should…do this again…some time."

Malfoy's smile turned cocky and he said, "Are you finally ready to admit what pleasant company I am?"

"Can't you just say 'yes' like a normal person?" Harry asked in despair.

Malfoy smirked and paid the bill, and they both stood to leave. Harry put his jacket on while he allowed himself a quick glance at Malfoy's lithe figure now the man was standing.

"Alright," Harry said, feeling awkward, "I'll…see you?"

"It would seem so," Malfoy said with a self-satisfied smile. "And Potter?"

"Yeah?" Harry said warily.

"I like it."

"Hm?"

"The hair," Malfoy clarified. "It looks good."

"Oh," Harry said in surprise, and, before he could formulate a response, Malfoy apparated away.

Baffled and a touch bewildered, Harry left the restaurant, wondering whether or not he had just begun dating Draco Malfoy.


	2. Part 2

Part 2

_2 years later_

Being Draco Malfoy's boyfriend was an experience for which there was no comparison. In the first place, Harry little experience of being a boyfriend under any circumstances. Since confiding to Ron and Hermione that he suspected he preferred both his own gender as well as the opposite one, he had gone on a handful of dates and had had several enjoyable one-night stands.

He hadn't felt the need to pick any of these people to see on a long-term basis and he had been lucky that no one had pressured him to do so. He had been quite content as a young single man, having no one to please but himself and he had been comfortable enough with his own company not to desire anyone else's.

Then Draco had come barrelling back into his life. At first he hadn't even realised that they were dating. They began meeting for dinner every Friday evening and Harry had struggled to divine whether or not they were old schoolmates forging a friendship or something more.

Thankfully Draco had put him out of his misery by, at the end of one dinner, huffing loudly enough to draw attention and saying, "For fuck's sake, Potter! Are you going to kiss me or do I have to draw you a map to my lips?"

Dating Draco was akin to owning a beautiful, temperamental and somewhat insane cat. The man could be nonchalance itself when the mood took him, gliding through existence like a swan, his crafted elegance swathing him like a cloak. Then there were other times.

Harry had never thought it possible to witness a grown man throw a tantrum over the fact that the market had none of his favourite mushrooms, nor that said grown man could sulk for an entire week after Harry had called his outfit 'nice' rather than 'exquisite'. Navigating his moods could be exhausting and sometimes Harry wondered if some errant spell had put the mind of a toddler in this grown man's body.

Draco was also irritatingly fastidious and, within a couple of months of dating, had re-organised Harry's modest London flat to the point that Harry barely recognised it. For the life of him Harry couldn't understand why the bedhead had to point south, nor why the bookcase had to go to the right of the armchair and not the left, but if it rendered him a peaceful life then he was happy to go along with it.

"Honestly, you have no appreciation for the aesthetic!" Draco had ranted at him as he had shifted furniture. "You have all the taste of a blind flobberworm!"

Harry had learnt that it was best to keep his tongue in his head and had simply nodded, all while wondering if his auror course-mates would help him hide the body.

Of course, Draco didn't spend all his time fulfilling the stereotype of a highly-strung aristocrat. He could be introverted and self-searching when the mood took him, and he could spend hours on end in contemplative silence. At first Harry thought it was merely an extension of Draco's ability to sulk, but he realised that it ran deeper.

There were demons in Draco's past that he had yet to slay, and Harry knew that these were the things that caused the man such introspection. He had found him on several occasions looking down at the ugly tattoo that marred his arm, a look of sorrowful contemplation on his face.

Attempts at broaching the subject had been met with arguments and Harry had decided that he would let it lie until Draco saw fit to bring it up. The poison of it would seep out every now and again, especially when patients would see it and refuse to be treated by him.

Each time Draco brushed it off with his usual air of superiority, but Harry knew that it stung. The man was devoted to his profession and was bloody good at it. He rose to the top of all his classes through hard work and sheer bloody-mindedness, graduating the programme within the top 10% of recorded exam grades.

They slid into one another's lives with relative ease, and Harry found himself surprised at how used they became to one another. They spent more time at Harry's flat than at Draco's, mainly because Harry was content to cook whereas Draco struggled to make toast, and Harry found the nights when the man wasn't there to be cold and empty.

Draco had even, beyond all reasonable expectation, forged an odd kind of friendship with Ron and Hermione. He and Ron spoke only in slurs to one another, which became more affectionate as time wore on, and his friendship with Hermione consisted of lively academic debates and earnest considerations on how to change the wizarding world for the better.

The longer time went on, the more Harry realised that Draco was so entrenched in his life that he struggled to remember a time before him. It would now be impossible for Harry to exist without Draco's mood-swings, without his absent-minded mutterings, without his bright smiles when Harry said something that struck him as funny.

Being able to make Draco laugh or smile was like the sun shining on a rainy day. It was an unexpected and singular pleasure that was beautiful in its simplicity. Draco guarded himself carefully and took great pains not to betray his emotions, so to tempt a smile from him was all the more precious for its rarity.

It happened sometimes late at night, when they lay side by side in bed together. In the afterglow of sex he would lie with his head on the pillow, golden hair fanned out, as he allowed himself the vulnerability of a soft smile. Words of love had not yet been exchanged between them, but, in those moments, Harry knew all he needed to.

Their Friday night dinners out became Friday night dinners in, and Harry looked forward to the cosy domesticity they shared. He was preparing one such dinner, nose stuffed in a cookbook on loan from Molly, when there was a knock at the door. He answered it, surprised to find Draco standing there.

"You're early," he informed him, the occurrence an oddity in itself. He noted that the man looked upset and he frowned as Draco pushed past him into the flat without so much as a hello.

"Ok…" Harry said, closing the door and turning to see that Draco had stalked into the kitchen and was sitting at the small table beneath the window. "Did you get the – "

His question was rendered useless as Draco produced a bottle of wine and poured a generous-sized amount into a waiting wine glass.

"I see you did," Harry said, watching as Draco took an overly-large gulp. "Are you going to tell me what's wrong or do I have to use Legilimency?"

"You can't do that," Draco replied, aiming for a sneer but not quite hitting the mark.

Feigning a confidence both of them knew he didn't possess, Harry said, "I'm a certified auror, I can do whatever I want."

Draco's jaw tensed and he said in horribly clipped tones, "You could, if you had the skill and mentality necessary for Legilimency, which isn't the case. So I will repeat myself – you can't do that."

Harry sighed and slipped his apron off over his head and said, "Fine. Then I guess you're just going to have to tell me like a decent guy who isn't lashing out at his boyfriend for something that happened at work."

Draco drained his glass and said brusquely, "It wasn't at work. It was at that stupid store." He paused, looking as though he might fling his glass across the room at any moment, then held his arm out and said, "The witch at the register saw my arm and…"

"And?" Harry prompted gently.

"Well, I didn't bring the wine from there, did I?" Draco asked snappily, holding the bottle of wine up to Harry's face.

Harry peered at it and saw that it was a muggle wine, which, under normal circumstances, he knew Draco would never drink.

"You went to a muggle store."

Draco retracted the bottle and said, "To them it's just another tattoo. They stare at me because they have no sense of fashion, but at least they don't look at me like…like I'm still…" he trailed off, censoring himself before he could say more.

"I get it," Harry assured him.

"I don't think you do," Draco argued softly. "They stare at you because you're you. They take one look at the Mark and wonder why I'm not in Azkaban!"

"Since when does that bother you?" Harry asked, knowing full well that it did. "The last time someone rejected you as their Healer you said, 'Good luck re-growing that thumb, then,' and moved on."

"Of course it bothers me!" Draco admitted, and Harry felt a small surge of triumph that he had done so. "I didn't plan on being judged my whole life for a mistake I made before I was out of school! And I knew that there would be people like this, rejecting me, when I went into Healer training."

He stopped to take a breath and Harry could see the conflict in his eyes. "It was a calculated set-back that I consciously chose when I started my career," he continued, "but that doesn't mean that it doesn't affect me! And in the store? That's not at work, that's not a place I expect to be judged before I put on my robes."

Deciding that this was his one opportunity to induce Draco to confront his demons, Harry said, "Does that happen often?"

Draco raised his eyebrows questioningly and Harry said, "We've been seeing each other for more than a year and this is the first time I'm hearing about this. So, I'll ask again – does it happen often?"

"I usually tune it out," Draco answered with a stubborn glint in his eye.

"That's not an answer," Harry pushed carefully.

"It's the only one I'm willing to give you. Take it or leave it."

Frustrated, but knowing that he was onto something, Harry said, "Maybe London isn't the place for us."

"For us?" Draco echoed. "You love it here."

"I do," Harry agreed, "but I also can't stand it sometimes. Kind of like with you," he added with a grin.

Draco smiled in spite of himself and said, "Charming. So what are you suggesting?" he asked hesitantly. "That we leave the city? Find two flats outside of London? What about work, hm?"

"I know you haven't been in the wizarding community for very long, but have you heard of the floo network?"

"You know I don't like the mess it makes," Draco said, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

"Apparation then, you obsessive cleaner!" Harry said exasperatedly. "And…I'm not saying we should get two separate places in the country, but maybe…" he paused as his mouth went dry.

He took a deep breath and reminded himself that he had been placed in Gryffindor for a reason. "Maybe we could find a place to live…together."

"You…want us to move in together?" Draco asked guardedly.

"Well…you stay over half the time anyway," Harry said almost defensively.

"I know…but…You really want that? To spend all your time with me?"

"Big surprise, huh? I love you and I want to spend time with you. Mental, I know."

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and Draco's look of surprise was almost comical.

"Ok," Harry said, his heart thudding in his chest, "we're not making a big deal of this. Are we?" he asked, fearing the answer.

"Oh, we are," Draco said, his expression turning gleeful. "What did you just say?"

"Shove off, Malfoy," Harry said, his cheeks on fire.

"Come on," Draco said wickedly, "say it again."

"I hate you."

"No, no, no. I clearly heard you say the opposite."

"Well I changed my mind!"

"I happen to know from experience that Harry Gryffindor Potter is too thick-headed to change his mind. Say it," Draco instructed.

"You're insufferable."

"See? You've been saying that about me since we met and you haven't changed your mind over the past couple of years, so don't tell me you've changed it in the past thirty seconds. Come on," he wheedled.

"Fine!" Harry said, throwing his hands up in defeat. "I love you. The cat's out of the bag. Can we move on now?"

"No," Draco said with a smile.

Harry groaned and Draco said, "I love you too. Let's find a place together."

Harry couldn't have stopped the grin that spread across his face if his life had depended upon it. In the space of a few moments his life had turned on its head and he wouldn't have changed it for the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't watched it already, please go and view the original thread on Tumblr. Shino and Becka (aka Praecipio Patronum and softsiriusblack) are wonderful actors and the above conversation between them is beautiful.
> 
> To my regular readers - One Man's Treason will be delayed this week, as I just haven't had time to write both, but normal service will resume next week.


	3. Part 3

Part 3

_A year later._

It didn't take long for the shine to wear off working as an auror. If he was honest with himself, Harry had fallen into the job rather than choosing it for himself. After the war, his head had been so muddled and he'd been so at odds with himself that he hadn't had time to consider his career options.

Everyone had expected him to become an auror; they all thought that it was the natural progression for someone who had spent their life fighting the forces of evil. He had thought so too, at the time, but as the reality of it took hold his thinking began to change.

The sheer mindless bureaucracy that encompassed his day-to-day life was staggering, and with each form that had to be filled in he felt a little bit of his soul slip away. He also disagreed fundamentally with many of the procedures he had to adhere to, especially when they placed himself or his team in danger.

Trying to affect change within the Ministry was like trying to put out a fire with a thimble of water. The more he attempted it the more frustrated and disillusioned he became, wondering why he had succumbed to such a profession in the first place.

These days he didn't even get to work with Ron on a regular basis. The man had decided to specialise in undercover operations and so was taken away by the training programme, meaning that Harry only saw him socially. There were others in his team that he had forged friendships with, but none he valued so highly as Ron.

The one consolation he had was that his home life was a happy one. He hadn't really known what to expect when they had moved in together but life with Draco was surprisingly pleasant. He was still the same fastidious headcase he had always been, with his funny little ways and odd behaviours, but Harry now felt that his life would be all the poorer without him.

They existed quietly together in a cottage in Berkshire. It was close enough to London to make commuting daily an easy task, and yet the little village they lived in was so remote as to feel like the end of the world. Harry had expected Draco to hate it, to pine for the fineries and sophistication of London, but the man seemed to find a peace in their little cottage that he had never known before.

Harry would glance across at him sometimes, sitting in his armchair by the fire of an evening, his nose buried in a medical tome. He looked so content that it made Harry smile, and he knew that they had made the right choice in leaving London.

They had frequent visitors in Ron and Hermione, who came often and were made welcome. Draco was the only person Ron deigned to play chess with, and, although Ron beat him nearly every time, Draco gave him a decent run for his money. They also welcomed Blaise on many an occasion, and Harry was glad that there was someone from Draco's past that he could still forge a relationship with.

To say that Draco had put everything in his past behind him would be erroneous. He was still troubled, Harry knew that, but as the years went on he began to find ways to resolve the issues that still haunted him.

His work went a long way to helping that. Draco wasn't content to simply just be a Healer and, ever since they had begun dating, he had spoken to Harry of how outdated he felt many diagnoses and subsequent treatments to be. He dedicated a large amount of his time and effort to researching these things and had published several academic papers on the topic.

He genuinely enjoyed helping people, which baffled Harry as much as it impressed him. The snobby prat he had known throughout school wouldn't have spit on a fellow pupil if they'd been on fire, but the man Draco had become went to work each day with a fierce sense of pride and purpose.

To see Draco so fulfilled in his profession only brought sharply into focus Harry's discontentment with his own. He didn't begrudge Draco his passion, indeed he was immensely proud of him, but to see him come home day after day with fire in his eyes as he spoke of his achievements made Harry realise that he was accomplishing precious few of his own.

He was contemplating that very matter as he sat crouched down beside a shrub as he and his partner staked out an abandoned pub. They had received a tip-off that some black-market trading would be taking place there and had been sent there by their supervisor.

It was a fool's errand as far as Harry was concerned. He knew the people in question, and while it was true that they often skirted the troublesome issues of paying taxes, they were, by and large, harmless enough. Still, the Ministry had its quotas to fill, and Harry was often the one who had to fill them.

"Can you see anything?" he whispered to his partner, Saunders.

The woman shook her head and whispered back, "No, but I can hear voices. Should we approach?"

"Better had or we'll be here all night. I can't hold this position much longer, my knees have all but seized up."

"A sure sign you're getting old."

They moved from their hiding places towards the dilapidated pub, wands drawn. Harry had played this game too often to feel nervous, indeed he rather felt he was becoming dangerously indifferent to the whole thing.

They approached the door and Harry counted down from three before they both blasted it off its hinges. Commotion sounded from within and Harry had only just made it inside when three figures came barging past him, the last of which knocked him so hard that he smacked into the wall face first, breaking both his lip and his glasses.

"Harry!"

"I'm alright. Get after them!" Harry instructed, trying to right himself. He tasted blood and felt his lip sting, while his cheek throbbed painfully where his glasses had cut it.

He cursed his own stupidity and knew, despite, Saunders' pursuit, that their quarry had fled. He wished he had enough left in him to care.

"They've gone," Saunders confirmed as she reappeared, breathless. "We should have put up anti-apparation wards."

Harry nodded, knowing that the oversight had been his. He was senior, after all, and these things were supposed to be his remit. He'd been sloppy and careless, and he was grateful that only he had been hurt as a result.

"Go home, Saunders," he said with a sigh. "We've done all we can do here."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Go on, get back to that husband of yours before he forgets what you look like."

"Alright. Do you want me to heal that cut?" she asked.

Harry shook his head with a smile and said, "I have my own personal Healer at home."

"All the better too. Good job someone's waiting to patch you up after these skirmishes."

"I doubt he'll see it that way," Harry murmured, waving Saunders off as she vanished.

He knew, as protocol dictated, that he should return to the Ministry and file his report, but he simply couldn't bring himself to care enough to do so. Draco wouldn't be happy with him for apparating directly into the cottage, but he hadn't the energy to go looking for a floo. Heaving a sigh, he closed his eyes and apparated, materialising in the cottage's kitchen.

Draco, who was halfway through preparing dinner, jumped and said, "Since when do you apparate? Didn't we agree on – " His sentence halted when he turned and caught sight of the state Harry had arrived in. "Merlin, what happened to your face?"

"Really don't want to talk about it," Harry said, avoiding Draco's searching gaze. "Can you fix it for me?"

"To fix it I need to know what happened. Was it a curse?"

He reached and pressed a thumb to Harry's lip, making Harry wince and pull away. "Don't be a baby, Potter. I've seen you with worse," Draco scolded.

"It wasn't a curse. I just…ran into something."

"Broke your glasses again?" Draco asked, and Harry could hear the disapproval in the man's voice.

Harry nodded, feeling abashed, and Draco said, "They seem ridiculously easy to break. Hold still."

Years ago, if Draco had pointed a wand in his face, Harry's first reaction would have been to reach for his own and get ready for a fight. Now, he simply closed his eyes and stood still, trusting that he was in safe hands. A tingle danced over his face and he felt his lip and cheek heal, and a further spell fixed his glasses.

He opened his eyes and saw Draco looking as though he was restraining himself from making comment.

"Thanks," Harry said quietly. "I'm going to go change."

He gave Draco a poor attempt at a smile and made his escape out of the kitchen and up the stairs. He peeled himself out of his robes and stared at them for a moment. He had once felt such pride in wearing them, but now they inspired only indifference.

He turned the shower on and let it run for a while to warm up. With a deep breath, he looked at his reflection in the mirror, his eyes travelling to a scar above his eye. It had no fame attached to it, as the old lightning bolt did, yet it held more significance to Harry.

He had acquired it in the defence of a muggle family who had fallen foul of Death Eaters who had evaded capture from the Ministry. He would never forget the things he saw that day; the memory of it was burnt onto his mind indelibly. Two children had lost their lives and the father had been Cruico'd until his mind gave way. His screams would haunt Harry until his dying day.

He stepped into the shower and closed his eyes as the water beat down against his skin. Since that incident all the remaining Death Eaters had been rounded up and been placed in custody, but it didn't mean that all the evil had been leeched from the wizarding world.

While many of his days were filled with the kind of useless tedium he had suffered today, they were also filled with coming face to face with the many horrors human beings could inflict on one another simply because they felt like it. He had seen the things people could be capable of and the depths to which humanity could stoop kept him awake at night.

He stayed in the shower longer than necessary, trying to let the continuous spray block out his thoughts. He knew it was useless, he'd tried often enough, but he needed to work these thoughts out of his head before he could face Draco again.

The man was never one to keep his thoughts to himself at the best of times, and Harry wasn't sure he was in any mood to hear them now. He dried himself off and slipped into some clean clothes, finally tempted downstairs by the smell of Draco's cooking.

He re-entered the kitchen and Draco turned from the stove to face him. "Now," he said with a touch of his old imperious nature, "do you want to talk about it?"

"Something went wrong," Harry said noncommittally.

"Yes, that much was obvious," Draco said with a touch of frustration. "Work with me here before this day goes straight into your nightmares."

Harry looked up in surprise, although why Draco's perception should have surprised him he wasn't sure.

"Yes, I've noticed," Draco said softly. "I notice a lot of things. I notice the protection spells. I notice how you never close the door to a room. I notice how you don't eat breakfast before critical missions."

"What are you getting at?" Harry asked, knowing full well what the man meant but not wishing to face up to it.

"What I'm getting at is that I think you should resign from being an auror."

"What?" Harry asked, jarred at hearing it spoken so plainly.

"You heard me. I never understood why you became one in the first place."

"Because I want to help people!"

"And do you? You can't save them all! You of all people should know that."

"And just because I can't save everybody you're saying that I should stop trying at all?" Harry asked, hating how much it rang true.

"Yes!" Draco insisted. "Aren't you done fighting?" he asked a little more gently.

"No! That's the point! I saved _your_ life didn't I?"

"And I will never forget that, but how about you save yourself next?"

"Now you're just being dramatic," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "I'm fine. Just because I had a bad day doesn't mean I have to quit my job." He paused, his arms folded over his chest defensively. "What would I do anyway?"

"Maybe something you actually enjoy doing?" Draco replied, as though Harry were a little slow. "You told me that you always felt like you had to fight, like there was no other way for you because someone had to stop the dark lord, and maybe, back then, you were right. But that's not true anymore, is it?" he asked, his expressive grey eyes meeting Harry's without compromise.

"I'm surprised you remember that," Harry said quietly, reluctant to admit that Draco was making sense.

"Sometimes, when you talk, I listen," Draco said with an amused smirk. "Big deal. So?"

Harry sighed and said, "I guess I'm…not the only one fighting anymore?"

"Exactly," Draco said, looking satisfied. His expression turned calculating as he said, "There is something else you can do that would count as helping. Something that you've done before, if I recall correctly."

"Being?" Harry prompted, confused.

"How do you get through your day, honestly?" Draco asked in frustration. "I'm talking about teaching! I hear the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher is vacant again."

Harry scoffed and said, "And what would I be doing _after_ that one whole year was up? Assuming, of course, that I'm one of the few lucky bastards that doesn't die on the job or go completely bonkers?"

Draco sighed and said, "First of all, you're an auror who's just come home beaten up by what I assume was a wall or a doorway, and you're afraid of getting hurt as a teacher? Give me a break, Potter."

Harry blinked, trying to form a rebuttal to Draco's argument, but finding that he was coming up short.

"You're not even trying to find good reasons against this," Draco continued. "Second of all, the current teacher is retiring after ten years. She took the job after the war and has kept it ever since."

He smiled and Harry knew the man thought he had won. "I think," Draco said, his lip quirking, "if you're not trying too hard to get killed that your chances of keeping the position for more than a year aren't too bad."

"I do have a talent for getting myself killed, if I remember correctly," Harry said stubbornly.

"Are you serious right now?"

"Look, I just don't think that Hogwarts is the right place for me."

Draco's eyes narrowed and he said, "This is about the war, right? We all have history with that place, memories we'd rather forget. But do you know who got over those before you did? Fucking Longbottom! Is he really that much braver than you?"

Harry bristled. "Are you trying to appeal to my Gryffindor arse to prove that I'm brave enough to go back there?" he asked, realising just how transparent he was to Draco and how easy it was for the man to manoeuvre him into situations.

"Is it working?"

"A little!" Harry begrudgingly admitted.

"Will you give it a try then?" Draco asked, looking smug.

Harry groaned and said, "I guess I could send McGonagall an owl?"

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"

His mission apparently complete, Draco turned back to the stove, a satisfied smile playing about his lips. Well, Harry was determined that the man wasn't going to be the only one capable of making momentous shifts in their lives.

"You know," he said, trying to aim for nonchalant, "if I go teach there, I'll likely have to live in. I mean…I could come back at weekends but…I'd prefer to have you live with me there."

Draco shook his head and said, "Not allowed. Teachers can only have spouses living with them."

"Yes," Harry said with a smile, "I know that."

Draco turned to face him, a sauce-laden spoon poised in one hand. "You're…not asking what I think you're asking…are you?"

"What do you think I'm asking?" Harry teased.

"Potter," Draco growled.

"Well? What's your answer?"

"I'm not answering a question that hasn't been asked."

"Alright," Harry said with a shrug, "but you might want to prepare what you want to say for when I _do_ ask."

He turned and left the kitchen, grinning as an airborne tea towel his head, knowing that he already had his answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a little longer to get out, but life stuff got in the way. Some of it was good, other stuff not so good. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it, and let me add for the final time - go and check out the original thread. It's wonderful.


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